Category: The Hard Stuff

The power of the short life of fallen police officer Xavier Jugele’ continues to ripple. Jugele’ was killed last week while on duty on Paris’ Champs Elysees when an Islamic extremist opened fire. As he’s laid to rest, his husband, Etienne Cardiles, gave the most beautiful tribute, painting a picture of a man so many of us would’ve loved to have known. Cardiles is steadfast in his love and his purpose. His message to those who continue to spread such

That was the easiest birthday gift ever. For the woman who has, Well, a lot. And, And, at the same time, Not the life she planned. She planned on spending the rest of her life with her college sweetheart. The one she’d been married to for 30 years. She planned on setting off on a new adventure with him. Empty nest style, as their youngest headed off to college. He planned on getting to know the company secretary. “Finding himself”

My mother has cancer. It has metastasized to her forehead. Her eyebrow, actually. She’s in pain. And she’s pissed. This is all horrifying. Sad. And, interesting. Interesting, because my mother passed away last August. I’m living what you might know, Dear Reader. You, who has said goodbye to someone you love. Someone who is gone, just not really gone. And so, it is, these nights, that my mother shows up in dreams. This happens about once a week. She’s angry.

This isn’t just a story of one mom who has a son with autism. This one is more personal for me. It’s about my good friend and former CNN colleague, Parisa Khosravi, and her son Payam. I’ll never forget sitting across from Parisa at Houston’s. This is probably 11 years ago. Her young son wasn’t hitting the usual developmental milestones. After extensive testing, they had a diagnosis. This beautiful boy with the longest eyelashes ever was on the autism spectrum.

I’ve become that lady. The crazy one. You probably figured this was coming, Dear Reader. Checking in each week to see if I’ve become her yet. Indeed, I have. The crazy lady who misses her dog. Beyond misses. Most days, I ache. It’s been about two months since DarlaDog passed. I still swear I can hear her collar jingling in the other room. Still catch my breath when I see a few scraps from dinner and have to remind myself,

A sweet boy from high school taught me something about love this week. Of course, he is no longer a boy. Now a man. A husband. A father. An incredibly happy one last July as he walked along Promenade des Anglais in Nice, France. Do you remember the evil that happened that night? As the French celebrated Bastille Day, their independence day? A crazed terrorist barreled a truck down that boulevard packed with people. His single mission was to destroy

What can I say? I lied to my dog. Each day for almost 17 years I declared, “You are the smartest! The prettiest! The most clever! Best dog ever.” Well, the day she ate the stuffing out of my neighbor’s antique chair, I might’ve had a few other choice words. Still, I bet that day, Any day, really, She heard me. Smartest. Prettiest. Best. Was it a lie? Indeed, it was. Darla would never win Westminster. She never earned a

Can the grief of a mother who has buried her son know any end? I would imagine no. Shirley Gibson and her husband, Harrison, have known this immense pain since 1997. Their son, Brian was a Washington D.C. police officer who was ambushed while sitting in his patrol car. At her son’s funeral, she wondered how she would ever get through the holidays. Her answer has been simply brilliant. She cooks. Cooks her son’s favorite foods and invites local police

Nothing like a holiday flash mob to warm my heart. But this one is unlike any I’ve ever seen. I recommend you have some Kleenex ready as you watch the surprise that is in store for this young mom of four kids. Amanda Kofoed thought she was in this Idaho coffee house to shoot a video for her new GoFundMe page. Until October of this year, that’s the last thing Amanda thought she would need to have. But when she was

In case you were wondering, Yes, that was me. The lady pushing her buggy down the aisle of the grocery store right before Thanksgiving. Tears streaming down her face. That was me. Tears were not the plan. Yukon Golds for mashed potatoes, Elbow macaroni for mac n’cheese. A few other things I had forgotten. That was the plan. I should remember my tears always have their own plan. Make no allowances for public appearances. And so, they picked the day